


One day they'll drink from our bones

by Feyland



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Character Death, Guns, Other, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-26 18:52:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12563940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feyland/pseuds/Feyland
Summary: A series of short ficlets based on the Jehanparnasse 2017 prompts





	1. Magic - Are you a good witch? Or a bad witch?

Overhead, moonlight dripped from naked branches. In the summer, even on nights like this one, where the full moon shone like a spotlight, the treetop canopy was thick enough to conceal it, and the restless heat of people held captive by the city sent up its own kind of fog until everything was blanketed with the residue of human contact. Now, away from the city lights, Montparnasse kept his chin raised high, drinking in the cool glow, pale as his own skin. Thousands of stars watched him closely, but Montparnasse had no fear of their retribution, instead turning up the swagger in his walk. He was, after all, performing for the universe.

The path came to an abrupt end, a wall of gnarled, curling branches obscuring anything beyond, almost wild enough to look natural. Montparnasse smiled. Just as he had left it. He pressed his palm to the barrier, and the limbs of the trees began to move, sliding over each other like snakes, parting the way for him to move past. The soft rustle told him that the doorway had sealed itself again behind him, an action that suddenly seemed pointless as Montparnasse realized there was someone else in the clearing.

They sat in the centre of the perfectly round patch of land, carefully laying out crystals in the short grass. The glow of the moon surrounded them, illuminating them bright as day. Were in not for the puff of their breath in the cool autumnal air, Montparnasse might have suspected they were a spirit, and left them to their devices. Instead, he took two steps towards them, purposefully letting leaves crunch underfoot to announce himself.

“No one is supposed to be here,” he said. Perhaps he meant it as a challenge, an accusation, but the words came out of curiosity instead. “I have wards up.”

“I think your wards might be disloyal,” replied the trespasser, not bothering to look up at Montparnasse as they continued to lay out their crystals in an intricate circular pattern. “I was looking for a place to charge my crystals. This place was so loud in its magic that it all but gave me the map.”

Despite himself, Montparnasse felt a well of pride bubble up. Strong magic meant a strong caster, and he was pleased at the way the clearing had come along. Even if it did have the unfortunate side effect of attracting other witches.

“I don’t suppose I could convince you to come back some other night when I don’t have pressing work to do,” he grumbled in a way that didn’t quite meet resolve.

“And waste a full moon? You insult me, sir.” The stranger finally looked up at Montparnasse from their seat on the ground, wearing a small smile. Their eyes matched their voice, as alive and kaleidoscopic as cool water.

Montparnasse was unsure if they were teasing him. They had managed to make their way into his secret grove with the ease of a current of air, and they showed no indication of chagrin at being found out. The elements of Montparnasse’s own planned ritual seemed to pulse with impatience inside his coat, and he unconsciously lay a hand on the place where the small bag held the finger bones he had collected. He didn’t want any judgement towards the shadier uses of his magic, especially in his own space. And yet.

“You may as well make yourself comfortable,” the stranger said, turning their attention back to their work. “You wouldn’t want any disquiet seeping into your spells.”

Slowly, Montparnasse knelt, drawing out the candles he had brought with him. As he struck a match, feeling the flame try to evade his grasp before settling into submission on the first wick, he glanced up again to see the other witch looking at him. It was the fire, he would tell himself later, that had warmed his face.

He had no excuse, though, for the second candle that ignited itself in his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This piece is accompanied by a moodboard here: http://feyland.tumblr.com/post/166906466852/jehanparnasse-week-2017-day-1-magic-are-you-a


	2. Acceptance - Le 6 juin, 1832

He had held Jehan’s head in his lap before while they slept, their hair fanned out, peace in the lines of their face. This was nothing like that experience. Their head felt too heavy, the neck muscles utterly incapable of lending any support, and the long red hair in chaotic disarray too closely mimicked the crimson pool under Jehan’s form. Blood soaked into Montparnasse’s trousers, and shrapnel dug into his knees, though he paid it all no mind as he squeezed a limp arm, following its length down to the wrists bound in coarse rope. Bile welled in his throat, and he tugged at the binds, all sense of dexterity lost in the numbness overtaking him. Panic rising, Montparnasse drew from his sleeve a small blade and slashed at the rope, hacking at it until Jehan’s hands were free to be held again, and Montparnasse cradled one, holding it to his lips, willing it to react to the touch.

Babet and Gueulemer were watching him, he knew, from several yards away. The large man had not spoken since the three had come across another body, its hands tied and a single bullet wound in its skull, slumped over from the kneeling position of its execution. That had been on the other side of the barricade, at the hands of Jehan’s friends, the self-righteous justice seekers who had orchestrated this carnage. Montparnasse might have even followed Babet in kicking at the nearest student’s corpse in fury, were it not for his desperation to find another body. Two slight forms did give him pause, a mix of pity and disgust churning in him as he looked down at Thenardier’s children, thinking of the man mere streets away, scavenging the dead at another barricade like the carrion-eater he was. More faces, some familiar despite the masks of death they wore, but not the one Montparnasse sought. Not until Babet called his name from the peak of the barricade to which he had climbed to take in the battlefield, and pointed beyond it.

Montparnasse felt a hand on his shoulder. Babet stood over him now, and Montparnasse turned his face away to hide the streaks of anguish spilling over.

“They will be coming to collect the dead soon,” Babet murmured with an uncomfortable gentleness. “Their wealthy family will want to see them at peace, I expect.”

Montparnasse stared at Jehan, fearing even to blink least it shorten his time left. They did not look peaceful, with part of their skull crushed from the force of the bullet, their lovely mouth turned downward and slightly ajar. Letting out a shuddering breath, Montparnasse released his lover’s cold hand, and reached for the cockade pinned over the heart that so recently had held more love for Montparnasse than he knew he deserved. The cockade was free of the viscera that covered so much of the street around them, and for that, Montparnasse was glad. He tucked it into his breast pocket, beside the broach Jehan had given him containing a perfectly plaited lock of their hair. He touched the body’s cheek one last time before easing the head back onto the cobblestones. As he stood, his gaze never left Jehan, but despite the desperate plea to the universe, the prayer of a godless man was ignored, and Jehan did not breathe. Instead, as he turned to follow his companions away from the graveyard of shattered hopes, Montparnasse sent up one last invocation, filled with all the words he did not know, and directed them to the poet he knew would make use of them, wherever they may be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This comes with a moodboard! http://feyland.tumblr.com/post/166942947362/jehanparnasse-week-2017-day-2-acceptance-le-6


	3. Haunted - I don’t want to rest in peace; I’d rather be the ghost that annoys you

Jehan watched the light bob away through the trees, content that the lost traveller would make it safely into town now that they were free of the wetlands that drowned the forest path. As the lamp disappeared into the night, Jehan let themself spread from the self-contained ball of light into their wispy form, tailoring their spirit into something that could almost pass for human. Though there was no wind and the trees were still, they watched as a shadow grew long, and skimmed across the water of the small pond towards them.

“You always ruin my fun,” a voice grumbled, and Montparnasse materialized beside them. “I was sure he was going to decide to take a midnight swim.”

Jehan smiled. Montparnasse had never successfully drowned anyone since his spirit had taken up residence by the forest pond, in which his body had been unceremoniously dumped decades before. It would be infuriating, they imagined, to return with the goal to seek revenge, only to share one’s afterlife with a spirit sworn to protect others from drowning as they had. 

“What if he had stayed once he was dead?” Jehan said, reaching one hand into the water in an attempt to create a ripple. “What if he wasn’t good company? Three can certainly be a crowd. Perhaps you should be interviewing potential victims to be certain they would make a suitable companion for all eternity.”

Montparnasse’s touch was not much more than smoke through fog, but Jehan leaned into him anyway as he encircled them in something like an embrace.

“You are the only one worth eternity to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This comes with a moodboard! http://feyland.tumblr.com/post/166978498322/jehanparnasse-week-2017-day-3-haunted-i-dont


	4. Role Reversal - The Crooked Kind

Grey light filtered into the room in the sun’s half-hearted attempt to rise. A low pounding had started up in Montparnasse’s temples as exhaustion hovered over him like an aura. His tea had long since turned cold, and his book lay open in his lap, forgotten his mind wandered. Worry was the only thing keeping him restless and alert, and he pushed at the invasive thoughts that wandered past his depleted mental defences. 

A soft click jolted his attention into focus, and he sat up on the couch as the door swung open and Jehan crossed the threshold. In near-silence mastered by years of stealth work, they shut the door and bolted it, glancing out the peephole in habit, before turning towards the living room and starting at Montparnasse’s presence. 

“You’re up early,” they said in a way that almost seemed casual, though Montparnasse could hear the tension of their night’s work still reverberating under his tone.

“I never went to bed,” he said, and unfolded himself from his curled position to stand. “I got nervous waiting up for you.”

“You didn’t have to wait.”

“Mm, you say that until the day I do decide to sleep, and that will be the day you come home with something broken or torn.” Montparnasse smiled as he said it, and took a step towards Jehan, reaching out to embrace them. He started as he pulled away, his arm coming back sticky. Half-dried blood had transferred from the side of Jehan’s jacket, which Montparnasse could now see was covered in dark, irregular patches. 

“Not mine,” Jehan said quietly as Montparnasse’s mouth fell open. They smoothly slipped off the black jacket, draping it over the back of a wooden chair, before examining the stain that had soaked into their white shirt underneath.

“This was new,” they said forlornly, but stripped it off too. Montparnasse eyed Jehan’s torso, but found no sign of new wounds amid the scattered scars already imprinted in their skin.

“Come on,” they said sliding their arm around Montparnasse’s waist. “Let’s get some sleep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This comes with a moodboard! http://feyland.tumblr.com/post/167012568462/jehanparnasse-week-2017-day-4-role-reversal


	5. AU - 'Hell of a Ride!' will be the words on our epitaphs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Bonnie & Clyde AU no one asked for

 

“Thank you, sir,” Jehan said sweetly to the man behind the bank counter. “You’ve been so accommodating.” 

The man had emptied the contents of the bank drawers into a paper bag, angling the empty coffers towards Jehan to prove he had offered everything up to them. All the while, his eyes flicked between the small gold handgun they held and the decidedly larger weapon in Montparnasse’s hand just a few feet away. Jehan had never shot at anyone with their gun, of course, but the teller did not need to know that. It was a prop, for the most part, though a fully loaded one nonetheless. Montparnasse’s gun, on the other hand, was no stranger to use. He had popped off a number of shots just minutes ago, the bullets ricocheting off the shiny floor as they announced their entrance. Jehan was proud of the way Montparnasse needed not raise his voice after such a display.

“Everyone on their knees,” he had said silkily to the terrified patrons, who obeyed him in seconds.

“That’s _them_!” Jehan heard one woman whisper, and they sent a dazzling smile her way, the same expression they sported in the photo routinely circulated in the newspapers. Aside from the fear thick in the room, there was also a glimmer of awe in the eyes of their audience as Jehan and Montparnasse smoothly began to collect the money handed to them by shaking bankers. These folks were in the presence of celebrities, after all. They would return to their homes to tell their families about their run-in with the most notorious outlaws in the state. They’d share the story in bars to captivated audiences, recounting every second of their near-death experience.

There would be no need for death, though, as long as nobody decided to do anything stupid. At the last bank they robbed, things had gotten ugly when two men had grabbed Jehan, trying to wrestle their gun out of their hand. Montparnasse was quick, though. One man howled as a bullet tore through his shoulder, his grip on Jehan slackened enough for them to twist away. The other crumpled like a sack of bricks as a second shot caught him between the eyes. 

That story had spread, which was perhaps why nobody made a move on the two as they cleaned out the last of the cash and backed towards the door. 

“It’s been a pleasure!” Jehan called out, and blew a kiss towards a man kneeling close by, who flinched. 

Montparnasse took their hand as they stepped back out under the hot sun. In the distance, the faint but unmistakable sound of a siren started to whine. They started to run, hand in hand, towards their car, Jehan with their head thrown back, laughing at the sky. 

 

*

They laughed again a month later when four black cars barricaded their path. It was inevitable, of course, that the police would eventually catch up with them. The giddy energy that usually came from a robbery filled Jehan. If this was the feeling of facing death, it was a shame they would only get to experience it once, they mused. Beside them, Montparnasse smirked, catching their eye and then their hand, ignoring the shouts for their surrender from the men before them. 

“Here we go,” he murmured to Jehan as the storm of bullets began to pour down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This comes with a moodboard! http://feyland.tumblr.com/post/167046716757/hell-of-a-ride-will-be-the-words-on-our


	6. Space - The planets bend between us

“I don’t think this will be the one,” said Jehan, a little sadly, but they still covered the roots of the sprout in the grey ash that covered the planet’s surface. Placing an irrigation tank over the plant and securing it into the ground, they began to fiddle with the settings. 

Montparnasse watched from a few yards away, engrossed by Jehan’s careful attempts to give the sprout everything it might need to survive. He knew very little about plants, beyond what Jehan had explained about their work, but he had to agree that the dry, ashy planet with not atmosphere didn’t seem to be the right place for a foreign species to thrive. This was the thirteenth planet they had visited so far, the latest in the line of disappointed sighs Jehan had let out when they had checked on the progress of their previous stops and found the readings indicating the plant had withered and died sometime after they had taken off. 

Not that Montparnasse should care, really. As a pilot, his only job was to fly Jehan from one planet to the next as they looked for somewhere to recreate life. The longer it took to find a fertile planet, the longer he stayed employed, so all the better for him. Yet somewhere along the line, Montparnasse’s heart began to sink in time with Jehan’s soft revelations that another planet had rejected a sprout. Somewhere along the line, he had also taken to joining Jehan outside the ship while they worked. It was to stretch his legs, he justified, somewhere other than the inside of the _Minette_. Even in a world like this one without any scenery, it was still nice to get off the spacecraft he lived in once in a while. 

As drops of water began to fall from the artificial cloud that filled the tank, Jehan rose gracefully in the light gravity. 

“Who knows, though. It might surprise us. And if not, well…” They began to collect their equipment, and Montparnasse moved to help. 

“The next planet, I’m sure,” he said, and Jehan beamed at him.

“The next one,” they agreed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This comes with a moodboard! - http://feyland.tumblr.com/post/167100439522/feyland-jehanparnasse-week-2017-day-6-space


	7. Forgiveness - What is all this sweet work worth / If thou kiss not me

**Montparnasse** : so I read that Wordsworth guy’s book you gave me..

 **Jehan** : !!!!! What did you think?

 **Montparnasse** : ….

 **Montparnasse** : Honestly? Boring as fuck.

 **Jehan** : Okay.

 **Jehan** : How so?

 **Montparnasse** : It’s all Sunshine and Rainbows. There’s one poem that is literally like ‘I saw a rainbow and it made me happy’. This guy is famous??

 **Jehan** : His main thing was the glorification of nature.

 **Montparnasse** : “A tree. Nice.”

 **Montparnasse** : Your stuff is way more interesting. I’ve seen a daffodil before. I don’t need someone else’s description of one.

 **Montparnasse** : Jehan?

 **Montparnasse:**  Hey I’m sorry.

 **Montparnasse** : Shit, Jehan, I’m sorry.

Montparnasse threw down his phone again. It had been over an hour since Jehan had last answered him. If they would only just respond - even just to tell him they were mad - then maybe he would be able to kill the restless uncertainty.

He glared down at the book he had managed to wade through only because Jehan’s face stayed in his mind’s eye as he read.

“This is your fault,” he said to it. Stupid English bastard and his stupid daffodils.

He was about to pick up his phone again for the millionth time to make sure Jehan hadn’t texted back when a knock came at his door, startling him. Suddenly on high alert, he moved soundlessly to it, and peered out the peephole. A large stack of books greeted him, framed with red hair. Montparnasse threw off the chain and pulled open the door, an apology on his lips, but he was cut off when the pile of books was shoved into his arms.

“Christ, these are heavy,” he huffed as Jehan stepped into the apartment, rubbing their own arms.

“I’m the one who just carted them up four storeys,” Jehan replied, and Montparnasse watched as they let themself into the kitchen and began filling the kettle. “I hope you didn’t have plans this evening.”

Montparnasse managed to set the pile down on the kitchen table. “Nothing important,” he said.

“Good. We’re going to do some reading.” Jehan’s tone was all business.

“Jehan - I’m sorry I insulted your poet. You know I’m not smart enough to appreciate him properly.”

“Bullshit,” they said, turning to face him. “You’re smart enough to know what’s interesting to you and what’s not. You don’t have to like someone’s work just because I do. And really, I should have known Wordsworth wouldn’t have been your cup of tea. Which is why I brought tea and also some more suitable Romantics. Have you read The Rime of the Ancient Mariner?”

Montparnasse shook his head.

“Good. It’s dark as fuck and I can’t wait for you to hear it. That’s Coleridge. I also have Shelley, Keats, Blake, and of course, Lord ‘Mad, Bad, and Dangerous to Know’ Byron.”

Montparnasse couldn’t help but smile. “Sounds familiar.”

Jehan whipped around, and faster than Montparnasse could register, they kissed him full on the mouth. He could feel the excitement in their touch and on their lips, and he responded in kind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This comes with a moodboard! - http://feyland.tumblr.com/post/167119795162/jehanparnasse-week-2017-day-7-forgiveness
> 
>  
> 
> And that's it for Jehanparnasse week which is tragic but hit me up on my tumblr and talk Jehanparnasse with me maybe??


End file.
